


Love Drunk

by oxiosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: M/M, affectionate loving drunktards ♥
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: Martín smirks and snorts at that. If sober Luciano is absurd, drunk Luciano is ridiculous.





	Love Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Disclamer; the characters used in this work belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators. More info about them in the following link > www.latin-hetalia.livejournal.com
> 
> Argentina: Martín Hernández.  
> Brazil: Luciano Da Silva.

Martín drops rather ungracefully on a seat by the bar with a breathless laugh. It’s been a long night, and if he has to be honest, it’s been long since he’s had so much fun. He asks for a drink - or rather screams for one, over the nightclub’s loud music. He drinks half of it in two long gulps, and lets out a pleased sigh. He has to close his eyes for a moment, shake his head a little to get himself together, because at this point of the night, Martín is utterly and completely drunk.

Not like anyone cares.

“Hello there,  _ handsome _ , come here often?”

Not like he’s the only one.

Martín laughs, and turns around to smile at Luciano. His smile grows even wider when Luciano throws himself over him - literally throws his arms around his shoulders, just drops his whole weight against Martín’s chest and lets him hold him up in an embrace.

“Missed you in the dance floor,” Luciano says, cuddles closer until he’s nuzzling his face against Martín’s neck like some sleepy child past their bedtime.

“I barely got here,” Martín points.

They’ve been at it for  _ hours _ \- dancing and jumping and laughing and kissing - and he’s only been gone for less than  _ five minutes _ . But Luciano won’t hear excuses.

“Why did you leave?” he sounds almost whiny, with sad dark eyes. He blinks it away in a second, before Martín can even answer, and raises his head to shoot him a teasing smile. “What, tired already?”

Martín smirks and snorts at that. If sober Luciano is absurd, drunk Luciano is  _ ridiculous. _

“Just needed a drink,” he replies instead and raises his glass as proof.

He won’t admit that the room is a little blurry by now, or that it might be spinning a little too fast, or that his feet hurt like  _ hell _ \- he can’t complain about the girl with massive platform shoes that crushed his foot, not when Luciano had actually been present for that and had laughed his ass off at his pain. Martín has a reputation to hold here, and anyways, it’s not like he needs another excuse; Luciano’s eyes have fallen on the drink in Martín’s hand, and the dance floor is soon forgotten.

“Oh,” he blinks, and his eyes go wide - suddenly he looks more sober than he’s looked in the whole night. “I want a drink. Buy me one.”

“I already bought you a drink,” Martín replies, and then can’t help to frown to himself because that doesn’t sound right at all. He tries to remember how on Earth Luciano got a free drink from him - he recalls some drunk flirting, some sort of drunk bet, but the details elude him.

“Yes, but I already finished that one,” Luciano points. He pouts when his logic doesn’t get through Martín. “You have to buy me one. That’s what dates do.”

True, yes, but a double edged sword.

“Well, then  _ you _ buy me a drink,” Martín defies.

Luciano’s eyes go wide, and stares.

“ _ I’m _ your date!” he cries.

“I’m your date too,” Martín points, and he can’t help the smug smirk curving his lips, because that’s it, he’s won this one.

Luciano looks completely shattered that Martín used his own reasoning against him. He frowns, and he almost looks genuinely hurt, Martín can give him that.

“If you don’t buy me a drink, I’ll get someone else to do so,” Luciano threatens with a pout that ruins the whole effect. He adds for good measure, in a almost proud sing song voice; “It shouldn’t be hard, you know. Two people touched my butt in my way here,” he then frowns to himself. “... Three. Three people.”

Martín can’t take him seriously as he sways drunkenly between his arms, squinting to himself like that.

“Oh, so now you’re not my date anymore?” he teases.

“Not when you’re being a lousy stingy date,” Luciano replies rather childishly.

“Lousy date, uh?” Martín’s smug smirk grows teeth.

Martín’s proud and stubborn; it takes little for him to find a challenge, so he takes this as such. He’ll show Luciano how much of a lousy date he is.

He brings a hand to Luciano’s face, and gently angles his head up to dip down for a kiss. He starts soft and tender, teasing. For someone complaining just a minute ago, Luciano responds open and eager, and melts into Martín as they quickly deepen the kiss. The drink soon lays forgotten over the bar.

There’s some cheering around them, but Martín doesn’t mind; doesn’t mind the lookers, doesn’t mind giving a little show. He would be tempted to raise a thumb at them, if only it didn’t mean having to let go of Luciano.

Luciano tilts his head to the side, to get a better angle, and his hands sink in Martín’s hair as he presses himself even closer. They keep it slow, drunk and lazy, but it’s enough for Martín’s heart to practically ache with the sweetness of it. He tangles his fingers between the curls on the back of Luciano’s head, lets his other hand slide down past his back, and suddenly Luciano is giggling between his lips.

“Four,” he says, before Martín can ask.

_ Utterly ridiculous. _ Martín drinks the silly bubbly giggle up with a smile, and presses their lips together again, feeling giddy and warm and  _ drunk _ . Luciano laughs some more, but goes for the kiss, and now it’s Martín’s turn to snort against Luciano’s lips. It’s hard to kiss with a smile on your face, he thinks with rising amusement as Luciano tries to climb his lap, presses himself even closer.

He desist, when it’s clear that Martín’s seat is too high and too small to share, and drops his head on Martín’s shoulder sulkily mumbling under his breath. Martín laughs, gently butts his head against Luciano’s. The small affection is enough to bring a sigh from Luciano, to get him to cuddle closer and bury his face in Martín’s neck again.

He speaks next, so low that if they hadn’t been this close, Martín would have missed it to the night club’s music.

“Take me home?” Luciano asks, a quiet breathless plea hot against Martín’s skin.

Well. Time to take the party somewhere more private.

They leave the club, leave the music and the chaos, and the contrast with the outside world is too much. It's a foggy Sunday morning in Buenos Aires, and they’re the only people walking down the street. It's quiet here, as they leave the club behind and head for a bus stop; everyone sleeps as the sun is nothing more than pink and orange creeping in the horizon. Winter just got here, and cold creeps into them, condensates in small white puffs of smoke with every breath. Martín can't say he particularly minds, not when Luciano shudders by his side and cuddles close against him in search of warmth.

Martín's place is barely a ten minute bus ride and three blocks away. Seems less time, as they distract each other with soft drunk mumbling and kissing.

They make it to Martín's apartment without problem, and head straight to the bedroom. They drop on the bed, side by side, and they don't bothering stripping from their clothes, or getting inside the bed.

Honestly, they’re just too drunk to stay awake any longer.

Luciano takes the edge of the bed's cover, and rolls to his side to wrap himself around it. Martín has to hold back a drunk giggle when he already hears him softly snoring below the covers. He lets out a huff - half a snort, half a chuckle - and simply stares at the ceiling with a small content smirk. In this quiet room, with faint morning light barely creeping through the window, he can feel the tiredness of a long night heavily settling in his tired body.

At his side, Luciano moves in his sleep. He mumbles something and scoots closer, and closer, until he’s pressed against Martín. He drags the covers over Martín, and wraps around him tangling their limbs and resting his head on his chest with a content sigh. Martín wraps his arms around Luciano to pull him even closer, and can’t help to kiss his forehead when Luciano’s only sleepy response is to hug him a little tighter.

Martín’s exhausted and drunk, and he’ll most definitely feel it tomorrow, but right here and right now, he can’t say he even cares about anything at all. Yes, he’s oh so drunk, he grants with a silly smile as he slowly falls asleep to Luciano’s soft breathing and heavy warm weight, but not entirely of alcohol.

**Author's Note:**

> ~Tiny Birthday gift for lovely Zu~


End file.
